Category Archives: Salvador Dalí

Spooky Milonga

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One evening in late June we jumped on a bus and rode it all the way down Rue Tolbiac, almost to the end, a block from the François Mitterand library. Looking for a milonga, we walked past the funkiest trashiest old building I’d ever seen. It had a medieval tower whose top was wrapped in netting… some kind of restoration? Keep the hunckback from flinging rotten fruit on passersby?

tower tour, anybody? Eiffel Tower it ain’t!

A set of windows on the 2nd or 3rd floor was painted into a giant gaping mouth with sharp monster teeth, waiting to devour anyone who dared enter. Silly us, we hadn’t yet realized that scary building was our destination!

Who’s hungry? I am!

We kept walking, not seeing any place that looked like a milonga. Around the corner the sidewalk sloped down to the level of the ground. There was a big chain link fence, a parking lot full of junky cars, graffiti everywhere, weeds, broken windows, trash… where the yada yada were we going?

colorful graffiti…

Ben spotted an opening in the chain link, with a paper taped to it that said Milonga Los Frigos and an arrow pointing to a trail leading around the side of the horrific palace.

boho chic?

We ducked under some trees and plunged into the semi-darkness of a shady overgrown courtyard slash/ abandoned side yard.

the spooky path

After a few steps we saw the twinkle of tiny lights through an opening in the brush. Three young people sitting around a card table came into view, smiling and looking completely normal. Could these be the demented gatekeepers of a horrific palace? Had we just entered the Twilight Zone?

We paid our €7 each. Apparently still having that deer-in-the-headlights look about us, the slim young Parisian (she spoke a little Spanish) led us along a dirt trail that led to the cobblestone patio and then, happily, towards what looked like a bar in a cave. Emerging from darkness into light is always a little confusing. We thought maybe the bar was the milonga, but she said it was just the bar, and so we walked past it (you could hear Billie Holiday singing softly) to yet another cave-like room on the ground level. By now we heard the music and saw open doors on a small wooden deck leading into — you guessed it — the milonga! Couples were dancing, and others sitting around small tables lit with candles. The ceiling was a series of stone arches paved with brick (we were right under the overpass) and the dance floor was, well, not great, but … what else do you expect at a monster’s ball?

trés jolie!

….and so we danced happily ever after in the remodeled troll cave. With French champagne in hand we toasted the classic sounds of Orquesta Sans Souci, Sexteto Milonguero, Canaro, Troilo, Biagi, Caló, de Caro, Pugliese, Enrique Rodríguez and other Top 100 Tango Tunes. We drank to bat caves, badger dens, rabbit warrens, hobbit holes and other warm snuggly hideaways. We danced underneath Rue Tolbiac, left bank of the Seine, 13th Arondissement, and we kept dancing until we dropped. Perfect, blissful, tango exhaustion: you try to pace yourself, but another favorite song comes on and a mysterious underground force compels you to get up and dance some more!

BOO!

Happy Halloween!

Paris Retrospective

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shock and awe at Deyrolles

One night I dreamt I was still in Paris, at Deyrolles. A fabulous scene was filmed here, in Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris. In the dream, Ben and I spent a couple of hours just prowling around upstairs, and more than a few critters seemed to come to life before my eyes!

how do you think we look, dear? deer? aunty antelope?

I felt like I’d taken a step back in time. Perhaps a time warp of the imagination? Deyrolles still sells dessicated butterflies (dead, but still pretty), stuffed birds, and so on and so forth…. the price tag increases exponentially with the size of the dead critter, especially when the number of legs goes from 2 to 4 (with the exception of their insect collection, of course).

Oops! just noticed the grizzly?

Paris reverberates with music and musicians… every summer they have la Fête du la Musique, a big music festival, with free music all over the city, from small neighborhood cafés and clubs to giant concert halls and expo centers. We stumbled on this antique instrument shop one day as we were strolling around aimlessly… one of the best ways to see Paris.

old musical instruments for sale

are those lyres beside the harps?

Walking around Paris you find stuff you never dreamed of… like the best chocolatiers in the world.

Cocteau: avant-garde eggs

Unfortunately the average tourist who “does” Paris in a 3-day hypertour only gets off the double decker tour bus to file into the Louvre to see la Gioconda, and is too exhausted at the end of the day to relax and mingle with locals. Here are a few pix (hard to choose!) of some splendid creations:

Apricot pistachio tart…. yum

the essential baguette, fit for palace or attic alike

Ben, the aspiring baker, comments that the ONLY reason bakeries open (for a few hours) on Sundays is because people have to have fresh baguettes every day!

Salvador Dalí, well-known Spanish baguette lover and surrealist, did a fine series of illustrations for Alice in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll’s fantastical story about a girl who wandered into a stranger than strange land. We saw the exhibit at the Espace Dalí  in Montmarte. Dalí’s ink drawings are amazingly delicate: such loving, precise and precious details… perhaps intended for a particular child, as was the book. Of course, Alice in Wonderland IS a children’s book… for the imaginative child in all of us.

white rabbit

Dalí knew that even Angels need a little extra support sometimes.

even Angels have rough days…

Salvador Dalí circa 1940

And since this is a retrospective with some of my favorite Paris photos, here’s Adam giving God a drag in Montmartre:

maybe this explains why so many Parisians smoke

Angels on both sides of the Atlantic

The above angel is from Recoleta, in Buenos Aires. Our own Mackinze is perhaps a less worldly Angel, but she sparkles even brighter than the crystal chandeliers of Versailles!

“she doth teach the torches to burn bright!” (Will Shakespeare)

Speaking of worldly, unworldly, otherworldly… (am I missing anything here?) in Paris I noticed that, despite the monstrosities you see in Vogue or on the fashion page, what women REALLY wear is what you see in the shop windows on the Champs Elysées.

I’d wear it too if I had the bucks!!

But la femme does not live by frock alone; we must accessorize!

Spanish fans are wearable Art. Vale?

This amazing fan shop is right across from the Museo de la Historia de Barcelona, Plaça del Rey. (Please excuse the Barcelona photos, I couldn’t resist!) Needless to say, I bought several, even some teeny tiny ones!

this is only one wall…

One cannot recall Paris, retrospectively or otherwise, without seeing the Louvre again. It’s huge, stunning, imposing… even intimidating. Imagine being a peasant from the 18th century, seeing the city for the first time! A LIFE-CHANGING EVENT!! Even if you’re a 21st century worker-drone!

the Louvre from across the Seine

nice front door… yeah

my favorite street artist, Miss.Tic

My favorite Starbucks, so Parisian!

on the Champs Elysées

How about my favorite guy in the universe?

traveling tanguero, takin’ it to the water

Here he is at Sunderland Club.

who’s the babe?

COMING SOON: my long-awaited post on the Sitges Tango Festival!

Ciao from North America!

Medieval field trip: Luxembourg, Gargoyles and Provins

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Luxembourg Castle

One fine day we left Paris for a weekend drive to Luxembourg. The french countryside is so very beautiful, so very lush this summer, on account of all the rain. Abundant greenness everywhere, though not as wild and untamed as the more remote places back home in California.

old path and steps in the river bottom, near the castle moat

The french are so neat and tidy, so meticulous! I thought only the germanic tribes were like that! We took back roads and drove through village after village, each one so perfectly cared for, so historic. Here you can see the juxtaposition of three eras: medieval, eighteenth century and twentieth.

which era would YOU choose to live in?

Downtown Luxembourg was bustling; people were eating, drinking, shopping, listening to music. A street fair was bubbling over one of the plazas, with entertainment and a huge yard sale.

kinda like Farmer’s Market in SLO

Every building is historic and well-tended. There must be hordes of worker-ants crawling around every day inside and out, keeping it all so perfect for us lucky tourists.

a quiet plaza in Luxembourg

Part of the old castle fits like a jigsaw puzzle into the natural rock formations carved out by the river a few eons ago.

some good hidey-holes there

this gorgeous building caught my eye

I stole this photo of Luxembourg lit up at night:

looks prettier without the skyscrapers

We found more old rock walls on our way back to Paris. It was like the family field trip minus the kids; late afternoon and we were hungry. We took the turnoff  to Provins almost by accident: it looked big enough to have a restaurant that might still be open on a Sunday evening. As luck would have it, we drove into a medieval village le plus belle de tout. A middle-eastern café was still open and quite busy. While throwing down hummus, pita bread and baba ganoush, I couldn’t take my eyes off the church across the street, where a diverse clan of gargoyles guard ancient stone.

parts of it are more vintage than others

Eagle gargoyle

Big Bird gargoyle?

Old Woman Gargoyle with Message

Porky Pig?

I give up: dog-dragon-gargoyle?

I thought maybe some of them were griffins but Wikipedia says griffins have the body of a lion with an eagle head. Gargoyles, as you know, are there to protect churches from evil spirits and other wandering disembodied bad vibes.

a goat gargoyle

I thought THIS was a GRIFFIN. WHOA!! Please note!! CORRECTION!! Our good friend Adrian from San Luis Obispo, who happens to be British which of course makes him an expert on cathedral decor, writes:  “Incidentally, the creature you have at Font St. Michel is a wyvern, not a griffin, since it has the hind quarters of a serpent – preferably with a barbed tail.” Oh my gosh I had no idea!! Knowing this could come in real handy, especially if you time-travel to the middle ages, or have a nightmare where a wyvern is going to toast you if you don’t answer the riddle about how his tail came to be barbed.

detail of Font St. Michel, Paris, Latin Quarter

Wikipedia sure has some amazingly curious articles on a host of obscure topics! Our wyvern doesn’t have a dragon’s head, but a lion’s. In every other respect it is undoubtedly a wyvern. This oddity is “a frequent heraldic device on British coats of arms and flags… A golden wyvern is believed to have been the symbol of the ancient kingdom of Wessex.”

a golden wyvern

So why are griffins part lion and part eagle? “As the lion was traditionally considered the king of the beasts and the eagle was the king of the birds, the griffin was thought to be an especially powerful and majestic creature. Griffins are known for guarding treasures and priceless possessions.”  I think I want one!

Provins church: note the older portions mixed with more recent

The arched doorway of the church in Provins reminds me of Notre Dame de París, but with way less fuss: broad strokes as opposed to devilish details. Compare it with the doorway of this catedral in the Gothic Quarter of Barcelona:

Barrio Gótico

And for more comparison here’s the lady herself: Notre Dame de París:

Notre Dame is famous for her gargoyles and her hunchback, from the story by Victor Hugo

Once you see one gargoyle, you start seeing them everywhere! Here are some from that cathedral in Barcelona.

A few gargoyles to protect from Dark Side flybys

Little Provins turns out to be a big stop on the European Medieval circuit…. remember the Renaissance Faire? This is where it lives. Time stood still here in 1429, when Joan of Arc went to mass accompanied by Charles VII.

Wow! She is one of my favorite saints… that girl really rocked the boat — and paid the price. My favorite, unforgettable painting of her lives in NYC, at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

St. Quiriace was built in 1160, partly destroyed by fire in 1662, and is pretty much out of service these days, you can’t even get a peek inside. But the vibes there are amazing; we loved it. Here is a statue of Joan of Arc in Paris, wearing solid gold armor. I can’t seem to find my photos of her; this is off the web:

correction: this one is MY photo of Joan of Arc!

St. Quiriace

Here I am at the doors:

yes, I go to church occasionally!

wabi-sabi detail

the watchtower next door

This is the old keep, or watchtower, sometimes called Caesar’s tower. We circled it.

Ben likes ancient rock walls too.

Provins is an amazing place, definitely the spot for all you history buffs. I couldn’t stop taking pix of the old houses, they are so beautiful!!

a busy corner in Provins

part of the old moat

How cool is that!!?!

a pretty country cottage

on the outside, a rustic cottage

On the inside… I’d be happy to decorate it for you!

the banker’s mansion?

City Hall or an official residence?

Provins is a living town, albeit a tourist town: how convenient. However it is located in the midst of some of the most beautiful countryside in the world! Its rolling green hills are like California’s wine country in spring. Just gorgeous. By the way, don’t get Provins, the town near Paris, mixed up with Provence, a wine-growing region in southern France, close to the Mediterranean coast: Marseilles, Aix-en-Provence, Cannes, Monaco. Not a bad spot to combine vacation and business: just ask James Bond!

Thanks to all of you for your emails, comments and likes. I really appreciate news from home. It helps me feel connected and not adrift somewhere in the universe…. sometimes I wake up and it takes a few moments to get oriented…. where the heck am I?

Next blog up: Tango Festival in Sitges, and fabulous Barcelona!

Au revoir, Paris!

Enchantment in Paris

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Have you ever torn off the top of a paper sugar tube? A few minutes ago I popped a top, turned it upside down, and accidentally dropped the whole tube of sugar, which sank, bow first, straight down into my coffee. I thought I’d seen the last of it, but just then the white tube rose slowly from the depths and popped back up! Magical! I managed to grab the stern end before it sank again; I wiggled and shook it gently just above the dark sea, and the pretty white powder slid sweetly and uneventfully back into the dark chocolate-colored brew. Amazing!

Sugar magic

Tossing the empty wet paper into the trash, my heady sense of fait accompli spoke to my earthbound self with just enough ridiculous praise to send me over to my laptop, not quite ready but perhaps willing to set a few words in order, hoping they’ll sort of spill out on their own, like they do on the good days, when it’s all I can do to crank them out as fast as the thoughts pop into my head… bolstered, of course, by the last cup of coffee, which picked me up out of a scattering of random thoughts as I watched the grey skies turn even darker. Like the continuing off and on rainy weather, which perplexes even meterologically inclined Parisians, I trust my thoughts to arrive in a similar fashion: on again, off again, as random as a herd of cats and just as unpredictable. Which they do. Arrive, that is. Unexpectedly and from who knows where?

Belle Epoque bling

Ahh… you gotta love Paris! Life is good. That gorgeous mansion on the Champs Elysées, a block from the Arc de Triomphe, is a musée (museum), one of hundreds in Paris.

Pont Alexandre – in honor of Alexander the Great

The little poppies and the fragrant basil and parsley Ben planted on our balcony have been thriving on these spring — now summer — rains. Paris is a green oasis of busyness, the traffic kept in check by sidewalk cafés where time stands still… and no one ever brings the bill until you ask for it.

Les Deux Magots

Life imitates Art and vice versa

Ancient walls and monuments are a constant reminder of the fleeting life cycle of us two-leggeds. Beautiful fountains here and there are a tranquil pools of Rest & Relaxation in the midst of it all.

a fountain in the Luxembourg Gardens

close up

I love this twelfth century wall near St. Etienne’s and the Pantheon. The plaque credits Philippe Auguste for building the wall.

XII century soundproofing

To Great Men your Country Recognises You

Abundant greenery is balanced by ancient stone…

Musée Rodin

cool cobblestone passages…

no trash in sight, either

…the Feng Shui of timeless stone and flowing water.

Font St. Michel

Louvre & Carrousel Arch

Versailles

Versailles Gardens

Sleeping Beauty awakens!

While touring Versailles we accidentally woke up Sleeping Beauty! We chased her thru the gardens, then into the Royal Palace where we followed her from one glittering room to another, so dazzling they seemed make-believe!

please have a seat…

Definitely the turf of a hometown princess. She knew every secret door and passageway, each spiral staircase leading to dungeon, scullery, towers…

Who has the key to unlock the golden gates?

We finally pinned her down in the Medieval Library. The trick was to open a book and read her a story: she was a captive audience! After listening to a few French tales of bravery, duels and treachery to the Crown, she told us her sad tale of woe.

no discount: not an energy saving light fixture

“Please let me come with you,” she begged. “Release me from captivity and take me to the 21st century!” We were willing, but insisted she trade in her glass slippers for a pair of trademark jeans — French couture, of course. 17th century meets 21st!

Hall of Mirrors

Goldilocks vs Goldfinger?

Versailles vs. Versace? We promised her three squares and a calico kitten to cuddle. Her first meal in our reality — cheeseburger, ice cream and coke — was wolfed down faster than you could say Little Red Riding Hood.

a well-balanced meal

We offered her the grand tour, but she declined the double-decker sightseeing bus; modern petrol-sucking machines give her the heebie-jeebies. She’s quite environmentally conscientious for someone who’s been asleep for 300 years! Alas, the coach house was empty: our sturdy draft horses were sent up to summer pastures in the high country. So our pragmatic princess hoofed it around town with us in her flip-flops and never complained, not even under her breath — although we did catch a few eyeball rolls!

May I have one of each, please?

We marched along happily in our quest for the best chocolate in Paris. Christian Constant was our knight in shining armor, with his jasmine and orange blossom scented petit fours, leaving a trail of bittersweet implosions in our mouths…

Avant-garde chocolate eggs

We were taken on a close-your-eyes journey tracing the old chocolate trade route through India and Arabia — where essence of Rose, Vetiver, and Ylang-Ylang leads to Tahitian vanilla, Verbena, Corinthian raisins, Cassis, Frangipani, Saffron, Chinese ginger and Cardamom from Malabar.

chocolatier haute chic

We tasted dark chocolate (ganache), almond praline, ginger praline, almond-hazelnut paste, raspberry mousse, Sicilian tangerine, bitter chocolate truffle. Holy Zocomoly! [Christian Constant, 37, rue d’Assas, Paris 75006.]

A la Mére de Famille, 35, rue Faubourg – Montmartre

Sleeping Beauty was wide awake, finally, cooled down by chocolate ice cream, the only known antidote to chocolate fever. We followed her into Starbucks on the Champs Elysées.

tres elegant!

We thought it only right to warn Sleeping Beauty about the “other” Starbuck:

father of many but accountable to none

After a much-needed coffee break (the Princess likes Caramel Frappuccinos) she wanted to test drive a Maserati race simulator, only €20 for 5 minutes, but we were afraid of losing her in hyperspace. But we did catch a glimpse of some really cool vintage rides.

Peugot Formula One?

Nissan Topless Retro

Ben took his time scoping out all the Fiats, Lancias, Renaults, Peugots, Maseratis, Aston Martins, and Ferraris in that pricey neighborhood. Sorry, no Cadillas, BMWs, Audis or Volvos… not even an old Chevy pickup! Sleeping Beauty opted for a more affordable transportation alternative: a horseback medieval warrior who nearly swept her off her feet!. She only had to put in a few quarters! Can’t see her astride that horse? Duh! She’s wearing her invisibility cloak!

guardian of Notre Dame

But we suspect she’s really after the handsome Count of Tivoli, a dashing young fellow from a good family:

Prince Charming?

That might be a kiss worth waking up for!

Notre Dame in the sunshine

So we flew past Notre Dame, scorned by our own little Princess who has the real dirt on what notre mére had been up that night about seven hundred years ago: fiddling with poison apples and deadly corsets were just a few of her evil games. But the Principessa had other fish to fry. She wanted to stop by the Louvre to see all those glorious paintings and sculptures of her friends from a bygone era.

Marie Antoinette and her children

Louis XV ?

Was she there when Napoleon crowned Josephine empress?

Louis XIII: 1610 – 1643

Louis XIII went off to make war; his favorite sport cost him his life.

party time in the sculpture section: waiter!

playful Louvre Lion

view of the Louvre from the roof of the Musée d’Orsay

view of the Louvre from the Seine

Sleepy Cinderella loved the Louvre; but all that Napoleonic bling made her hungry as an 11-year old Princess can be. We took the Metro to another quarter, and stopped for refreshments.

look who’s wearing my chapeau Italienne!

could we sell this ad to Coca-Cola?

either she got a refill, or I mixed up the order…

Obviously, she runs on Coke, burgers and fries. She begged us for mac & cheese but we don’t go in for processed foods. We had to draw the line somewhere! Emergency rations only! Give a princess an excuse and she’ll clean out your fridge!

Back at home base — Camp Ocean Pines it ain’t — not Camp Roberts either, nor is it Big Sur, Tuolumne Meadows or Groovy Beach — Sleeping Beauty morphed into Cinderella when she saw what a mega-mess our camp cook can make. We prayed for delivery of a flock of the ubiquitous Café Scrounger Pigeons to clean up our kitchen, but we got Cinderella instead. No more dust bunnies under the couch, or my best marinara sauce splattered and petrifying on the white enamel cooktop!

Cinderella for reals!

We were beginning to worry she’d be putting a call in to the Royal Inquisitor (aka Mom!) if we let her continue the cleaning frenzy, so we took her to see Midnight in Paris. Sure enough, Sleepy Cinderella loved it! Miss mise-en-scéne’s metabolism finally slowed down to a crawl. We got her tucked in for the night, downloading photos to her Facebook till she passed out. Now that her story has gone viral due to her gazillion aunties, uncles, cousins, first cousins, and adorable little sister, she plans to make big bucks singing and dancing on the silver screen AFTER she finishes the Vampire Training Academy. No wonder she can’t sleep before midnight! File those nails and don’t forget your fangs!

Cinderella loves to dance so she accompanied us to a few milongas, including one on board the NixNox, tied up at Quai de la Gare (Mitterand). That gently rockin’n’rollin’ dance floor sure adds extra altitude and torque to those giros! We strolled along the quay after sundown… about 10 pm Paris time.

France doesn’t do daylight savings

red party boat

quay-side cafés and restaurants

Nix Nox, the Tango boat

milonga on the Nix Nox

how cool is this!

Two weeks is a very short time to visit a city as big as Paris. Mackinze was almost tireless… we were proud when we did manage to tire her out! She climbed all the way up the Eiffel Tower (we did too!), danced on the banks of the Seine, kept watch while we adorned Pont des Arts with locks and tobacco ties, and gave spare change to musicians playing on the Metro and the clarinet player outside the Musée d’Orsay. She also sat thru a few episodes of my favorite telenovela, La Reina del Sur. I got hooked on it in Buenos Aires. I can read basic body language in the vernacular but, unfortunately, simple French conversation is beyond me. However, statements like “You’re toast, cabrón” and “my Russian friend is going to teach you to sing like a canary” come across quite clearly no matter what language is spoken!

Kate del Castillo

Ben and I turned Cinderella into a lover of all-natural French yogurt with organic granola and Senegalese mango. She liked the spaghetti and meatballs confected by yours truly, just like nonna used to make, except I don’t stand at the stove for hours rolling them back and forth in the frying pan till they are perfectly browned and as spherical as cue balls. Next day we had meatball sandwiches with fresh mozzarella on baguettes. The only thing missing was the jalapeños! She liked to sneak out in the morning and raid the local boulangeries for our breakfast staples: croissants, chocolate croissants, almond croissants… croissants with black tea or coffee.

Editor’s note: this post is turning into a novel, will you please bring it to a close!?

Friends and Family in the café at Versailles

My response: Sure boss, but our little takoja is so much fun, and she is so photogenic!

Ben’s in this one and I’m taking the picture

Cinderella strolled the banks of the Seine:

the Left Bank: rive gauche

we had nice weather that day

ghost reflection at the Queen’s dressing table

mesmerized with a Coke

Besties visit the Tour Eiffel

Mackinze climbed the Eiffel Tower as well as endless stairs at the Louvre and other museums and palaces about town, not to mention up and down to the Metro, and the 108 steps up to the apartment at least twice a day — usually running up! Way to Go Girl!

Grandpa Ben, Mackinze and me from the top!

view of Sacre Coeur from the Eiffel Tower

at the Arc de Triomphe

Musée Rodin

with King Tut

Cinderella petting a calico cat

Boat and Duck Races at the Luxembourg Gardens

She loves ducks! Photo by Mackinze.

la Principessa con Pére Ben

Cinderella had to go back to Never-Never Land…. sob! and we are already missing her. I wonder how much change she could collect if she spent a few hours meeting and greeting people while passing the hat (her new French chapeau) outside a local Starbucks…. so she can buy herself a Caramel Frappuccino!  All you have to do is practice saying, “Bonjour! Café pour moi? Je suis tres jolie!” You can do it, girl!

at the Hotel Meurice, with attitude!

She might also look into dog-walking. You can make a lot of dough if you can handle a sizeable herd…. it’s not too soon to start saving up for college!

Arf! Arf! Bao Bao!

BE GOOD!!!

This post written especially for friends and family of Mackinze, Ben’s 11 year-old granddaughter and a shining star in all of our lives! All the rest of you are pretty darn special, too! Happy Fourth of July! Have a great summer!

Ciao from Paris!

Paris Street Art: meet Miss.Tíc

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Despite the incessant rain we blog along, my photographer unfazed. Apparently he and his camera are waterproof, just like our extraordinary street artist, Miss.Tíc.

Dangerous in every aspect!

What she really looks like I have no idea, but her spray paint alter ego is a stunner!

I only break hearts.

‘Go ahead and break mine!’ some of you out there in virtual hyperspace are no doubt thinking. Miss.Tíc must live in our Butte Aux Cailles neighhood!  That’s my hunch and I’m stickin’ to it. We don’t see her work anywhere else. In fact, my best guess is that she’s friends with local shop owners, because nobody seems to paint over her ‘graffiti.’ One of her best works frames a very popular local café:

One man hides another  …  Bomb Alert!

If any of you readers can render better translations, please send them in. My French is unpardonable and I know it!

Life passes quickly, but time slowly.

What the heck does that mean?  I think I get this one:

I’m on my moon time, so get lost!

My interpretation, probably way off. Miss.Tíc seems to go for sexy poster boys:

Desire is created in our secret gardens.

This one decorates the wall of another local café, just down the street:

That was a helluva day!

Yikes, I found out all about Miss.Tíc when I googled her just now! She’s famous!

that’s Life… it’ll pass!

“Born in Montmartre of a Tunisian immigrant father and a French mother, [whom she refers to as] an enlightened peasant,” Miss.Tíc grew up on the hill, Butte aux Cailles, “neighborhood of poets, painters and prostitutes…” (Hey, that’s our neighborhood they’re talking about!) Miss.Tíc came to be known for her street art; “she often refers to this district  in her works and performances.” (Wikipedia, my translation from the French)

another version

Miss.Tíc spent a couple of years in California in the 1980s. She must have been impressed with California style graffiti — God knows there’s plenty of it!  She returned to Paris after a devastating break-up, and around 1985 began to channel her feelings about life and love into street art. Using red and black spray paint and stencils, she uses random walls to frame her work. Despite no formal art training, Miss.Tíc’s self-assured and sexy heroine is knee deep in talent and expertise.

Miss.Tic’s cat?

“For years Miss.Tíc has bombarded the walls of Paris with her subtle and ambiguous stencils. And all this time, the owners of these same walls erase them….  So when we find one intact, it is a pleasure, a great pleasure …  You can find her works enhancing walls throughout the 13th – particularly the Butte-aux-Cailles neighborhood.”  (from www.missticinparis.com)

Each gives but who picks up the tab?  Miss.Tíc’s sketchy self-portraits, enhanced by sardonic humor, chronicle the feminine wisdom gained in encounters with the other sex.

You only love me in passing.  Her street-smart style playfully questions modern femininity, subjectivity, and sexuality.

Book of doubts. Notice how only one eye is behind the veil? How like a woman is that? and how interesting the oblique reference to veils. In the last few years Miss.Tíc has begun to create works off-the-street. I love the way she is beginning to use more colors to express her feelings!

Time is a serial illusion.

One should only declare love to love itself!?

Illusion is stronger than passion.

You make me dream… I better go back to sleep.

To the walls … let the art girl play!

If you told me of your thirst… is it to calm mine?

Bomb Alert! … Art Rock

Art and Life are one and the same!

We love you Miss.Tíc! Keep it up! Back to the walls! Women Artists United! We have Nothing to Lose but our Illusions and Delusions!

How does it feel to be posterized and put up on a wall? Hmmm, let me think … Fun!

Meanwhile, still looking for Dalí…

and keeping my eyes open for those divine moments when I spot Miss.Tíc on an obliging wall! And waiting for that magical Peugot to show up at midnight …

Ciao from Paris!

Catacombs and Celestial Spheres

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Paris is positively popping with Tango! Wednesday night we danced in Napoleon’s former hunting lodge, Chateau du Lac, on a pretty pond in the Bois de Vicennes. They call it the Milonga Imperial. I wonder if Napoleon ever danced here? Judging from his supersized ego, he was probably one of those unfortunate types who always seem to be dancing with themselves. Doesn’t he know it takes two to tango?

Napoleon hunting in the forest of Fontainebleau, 1807

I did manage to come up with a picture of Napoleon hunting… seems like he had a whole regiment tagging along. Wouldn’t that scare off the deer? If Napoleon had been the humble sort who took the time to make offerings to Diana, Goddess of the Hunt, he might have had more luck bringing home the bacon.

Diana, mythical huntress

No hunting at this la Milonga Imperial, only shy cabeceos. After three weeks in Paris we have danced at a variety of milongas. Paris Tango dancers are a friendly bunch, despite the language barrier. They seem to be quite as addicted as we are, and they come in all colors and flavors, the usual package mix, from beginners to…  well, let’s say experienced but not quite ready for stardom, with no plans to morph into instant tango teachers anytime soon — in other words, dancers just like us!

la Milonga Imperial

Parisians can milonga every afternoon and evening at a multitude of venues. There’s lots of milongas to choose from: at least 10+ choices on your average weeknight, and on the weekends, wow! <tango-argentin.fr> lists 0ver 80 milongas every week, a handful of which also have prácticas every day! At least half of these are what we call Matinee Milongas; from 4 or 5 pm to ’round midnite. Parisians don’t tend to milonga past 1, because the Metro quits running at 1:30. And don’t think you can just grab a cab if you’ve missed the Metro; you will definitely turn into a pumpkin or worse; ’cause cabs are scarce, except near luxe hotels. And soooo expensive. But evenings in the City of Lights… just amazing! Especially when atmospheric conditions fuse with technological genius… voila!

The nightly Paris light show is brought to you by an elite team of high tech engineers. Way to go Paris!

Tangueros here use some variation of the cabaceo; however, when it comes to dance floor etiquette… it’s the Tour de France! There seems to be very little interest in maintaining your own little bubble and going round and round in the bigger bubble. All evening long people are passing on both sides, bumping and bulldozing. Ben says it’s amazing they have as few collisions as they do; but then the French have always been good drivers. Unlike San Francisco and Buenos Aires, Paris motorists don’t try to run you down in the street!

Tour de France 2012

A rather swell 4-pc Tango orchestra played for 2 whole hours at la Milonga Imperial. I didn’t catch their name… blame it on my nonexistent French! I don’t savvy word one except merci and vin rouge. It’s a girl group:  3 women (bandoneón, piano, violin) and a token male (contrabajo). They were pretty good! Live music gets a star rating from us! We also like milongas with a good floor and great atmosphere: give those 2 stars. A bar, café or restaurant adds a star; and top-notch DJ’ing gets one too. Maybe we could create our own milonga rating system and sell it to TripAdvisor? Tango Tours R Us? Seriously, though, our friends in several Tango communities are going to be asking… what do Parisians wear to milongas? The answer is: Parisians dress more or less the same as they do in LA, New York, Buenos Aires, or your local dance studio… from boho chic to very elegant. However, no jeans were spotted at Napoleon’s chateau-restaurant.

Porte Saint-Denis

The other night we walked by Porte Saint-Denis on our way to Milonga 323. It’s an historic area full of beautiful old buildings. Porte Saint-Denis, built in 1672, was one of the gates into Paris, like the Arc d’Triomphe across town. It replaced a medieval gate built on the same spot by Carlos V in the 1400s. Milonga 323 has a good floor, but there were only 4 or 5 couples there. The organizer was a petit young woman with a mop of golden-orange frizz; she fussed over us like a hyperactive poodle! She seemed to be trying very hard to attract more people to her milonga. Apparently we missed a big tango event that same evening; thus the poor turnout.

milonga l’Esprit

Milonga L’Esprit has a crazy guy that dances in the center of the dance floor, although you couldn’t really call it dancing: he just bounces back-and-forth from one side to the other, and jerks his don’t-know-any-better partners around. I guess he’s famous cause we were warned about him before we left Buenos Aires! Yep, he exists! Probably wears an invisible shock collar so if he tries to leave the middle… Zap! Ouch!

There are plenty of workshops and classes around, and they cost plenty. We see a lot of PR announcing, for ex: Milena & Miguel, fabulous tango dancers and teachers, etc… but we’ve never heard of them. If you speak Spanish AND French, and dance tango fairly well, you could make a decent living in Paris! (Sorry, no sick days, holidays, vacation time or pension!) We’ve only met up with one Argentine tango teacher, Coco Dias. Reincarnation of Napoleon? Friendly guy, though, invited us to a private party and tango event but we couldn’t make it. Catch you next time, Coco!

Coco’s the Porteño in Paris

There are some darn good DJ’s in Paris. Some are really good (la Balbutiant, Casa de Tango, Milonga Imperial). What I mean by really good, is a milonga that sounds like the milongas of Buenos Aires. Like, the Tango Tunes Top 400. If you occasionally DJ, like I do, you know the drill. First, select your favorite tunes by your favorite orchestras, off the internet or your CD collection or your iTunes; next, you organize them, in tandas and cortinas, to make your playlist. Well, if you make up your playlist with your least favorite tunes by the same great tango orchestras, and put them all together into tandas and cortinas, that’s what I call the music at a not-so-good milonga. Lacking a certain passion, that essential flavor, el sabor del tango. 

Tango Passion

The tango scene is not the only Paris underground: there’s also the Catacombs.

going down?

We toured the catacombs a few days ago: so many bones and skulls piled everywhere, damp stone passages, very poorly lighted… that place gave me the creeps! Ugh! Spooky! You go down down down a spiral cement staircase, 134 steps down to be precise. Not nearly as attractive as these 108 steps in our building. No indeed. They’re dank, smelly, creepy. The bones are mostly laid out in a distinctive pattern, maybe you can guess it from these photos. Are we scared yet?

I’m goin’ in…

death procession

I’ve seen the catacombs under Rome and also under St. Peter’s, so I was somewhat prepared for it, (listen to me lie!) but what surprised me was how small the skulls are. My first thought was, OMG, these are children! But, passing each niche, punctuated by plaques writ or engraved on cold stone, and an occasional puddle underfoot — water dripping thru layers of porous limestone which underlies all of Paris — I finally realized that all the skulls were small, cause people were littler back then! And their average life span was about half of ours today.

Some of the quotations etched in stone are priceless, like the one about how death equalizes kings and beggars alike.

One of the workers at the Catacombs had been a prisoner for many years. During those years he came to be very fond of the view of the city from the prison. He was eventually released from bondage, and found work stacking femurs and tibia underground in the 1770s. In his spare time he chiseled the view of the city he had gazed longingly at for so long. He was killed by a cave-in; his final resting place the Catacombs.

the underground city

do you see what I see?

I was more than happy to climb up the 100 winding stairs and be back in the sunlight! We went to a busy boulangerie-café, had sandwiches and coffee and watched the world go by for an hour or so till we recovered from that subterranean nightmare. Ben kept making silly jokes, talking to the skulls, you know, like, hey, what happened to your brains? geez, you really lost your mind! The guy has a sick sense of humor!

After a couple of hours underground I was so over it. Here’s a cheery hasta la vista, baby!

Be seein’ ya!

Ready to climb the stairway to heaven? Back to the realm of the living?

this train is bound for glory…. praise the Lord!

Now that we’ve had a quick armchair trip to the underworld, how about putting the spaceship in reverse and heading up to the finer celestial elevations? Nothing like a little music to elevate your spirits in this earthly paradise.

Notre Dame

A few nights ago, a packed crowd at Notre Dame time-warped us back to medieval nights, thanks to a wonderful choir of all ages singing Bach’s Magnificat. There was musical accompaniment: several violins, contrabajo, tambourine, organ… really I’m not exactly sure because there was a crowd up there on the temporary stage, in front of the main altar. The conductor, a young black Frenchman, took care of business gracefully, dynamically, and with a reassuring smile. The thousand-year-old cathedral radiated sound like only a thousand-year-old stone and glass cathedral can do.  It felt like we were lifted up into space and touched down on the intergalactial mother ship, i.e., heaven! An unearthly celestial blue glow diffused over us pilgrims gathered to hear the choir sing Bach. Radiant joy pulsed through every single molecule I own. An awesome experience, 5 stars!

choir at Notre Dame

The Magnificat (also known as the Song of Mary or the Canticle of Mary) is a song of praise set to music. It is one of the most ancient of Christian hymms and perhaps the earliest hymm to Mary. The name Magnificat comes from the first word of the Latin version of the canticle’s text, which comes from the Gospel of Luke (Luke 1:46-55) Johann Sebastian Bach composed music for a version of the Magnificat in 1723. In 1724 he finished setting the canticle (i.e., the words of the hymm, in German) to music. Pretty awesome stuff! Ben took some nice photos.

stone reaching for the sky

We’re still having that tempestuous spring weather here in Paris. It’s been raining off and on for almost a week, and the forecast calls for more of the same indefinitely… maybe forever. That line about “springtime in Paris” is totally bogus. I recently discovered that Paris is north of Albany, Boston,  even Bismarck, North Dakota for chrissake! Cheyenne, Chicago, Denver, Montpelier, New York, even Seattle! Geez Louise! We had just enough warm days to figure out which milongas had functioning AC, and now we’re back to going out with jackets and umbrellas! Who planned this vacation, anyway?

Open Studios in Paris this weekend!

Have a good weekend, everybody! And remember, if you don’t like the news, go out and make some of your own!

Ciao from París!

On Getting Lost and Finding Dalí

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In the last week we’ve covered a lot of territory: the Luxembourg Gardens, the Paris catacombs, Notre Dame, the Louvre, Pont Neuf, Montmartre, Sacre Coeur and Espace Dalí. We’ve also found time for milongas, checking out more boulangeries and patisseries, and getting our Paris Metro passes. First rule of thumb for Paris newbies: try to avoid getting lost in the Luxembourg Gardens. I wandered off from Ben one fine day, looking for the w.c., and I couldn’t find my way back!

a beautiful day near the Luxembourg Gardens

This beautiful fountain (Fontaine de l’Observatoire, 1874)  reminds me of the Fontana di Trevi in Rome, which predates the Luxe Garden’s fountain by 112 years. The Romans tended to build fountains where their aqueducts converged. This fountain is a natural spot to meet up with someone, cause it’s so large you can’t miss it. Plus, it’s right at the south entrance to the Gardens.

the horses have fish-tails!

The water spilling over the edge and into the still pool is just lovely. Above them four nymphs are circling, symbolically representing the earthly sphere, with its four directions and four colors of humankind. The figures hold aloft a circular band with the 12 symbols of the Zodiac. Pretty cosmic stuff! You might say it prefigured the hippie era. Farther on is a long strip of green lawn edged with shade trees and dotted with sculptures.

give the guy a drink! he’s thirsty!

The lawns were busy with families, kids playing, couples romancing, and teenage girls in bikinis on beach blankets getting a head start on their summer tans.

The Luxembourg Gardens were built in 1615 by Marie d’Medici, Queen consort of France. She was the second wife of Henry IV. The palace was modeled after the Palazzo Pitti, in Marie’s hometown of Florence, Italy. Following the assassination of her husband in 1610, which occurred the day after her coronation (yikes!) Marie acted as regent for her son, King Louis XIII, until he came of age. She was noted for her involvement in the ceaseless political intrigues at the French court, and also for her extensive artistic patronage. And we thought our era was full of Sara Palins, Andy Warhols and Sarkozys?

Club Luxe Med?

If you walk past the huge reflecting pool, where pint-size sailing ships stage battles, there are acres and acres of trees, planted in straight lines that crisscross like a grid. Beneath the trees are dozens of park benches, also set in rows and interspersed with more sculptures, fountains, a carousel, an apple orchard, a café, pony rides… it’s an enormous invisible labyrinth! Every time you stop and turn around, it looks the same… trees and benches all around you. Are you getting that lost feeling yet? A bit dizzy? Like, too many giros? Not to worry, along came an avenging angel on horseback to save the day!

with his trumpet blazing!

With his cell phone beeping, is more like it. The tall guy was glad to find me, and plenty pissed off about my being lost for two hours! Here I am looking lost (but not really lost) on a rainy day in our neighborhood:

I admit I get lost easily..

especially if I walk into a Macy’s or even Target! Right brainers have more fun but we get into more trouble, too!

stay in your cubicle or get lost in the garden!

Anyhow, he got over it and his reward was a beautiful baguette!

make ’em eat bread!!

After my traumatic day I was in serious need of caffeine and sugar. Luckily, that’s not a problem in Paris.

how about a latte and a little something…

passionately sweet!

the fruit is real!

And if you really want to get lost, how about a delightful cobblestone street to find yourself in?

just follow the path!

So one very pretty day we found ourselves in the Metro, heading up the hill to Montmartre. We got off at Abbesses, and a big elevator took us several flights up to a beautiful plaza. We walked up curvy cobblestone streets, past dozens of adorable cafés,

Chez Marie

tourists by the dozen

more cafés

climbed up hundreds of stairs

you’ve got to be kidding!

are we there yet?

past free art on display

Adam offers God a drag?

finally arriving in the artsy tourist mecca, with its plaza packed full of artists sketching, painting, and displaying their works.

plaza des Artistes

Montmartre is a charming picturesque art enclave. Of course, it was a real artists’ zone back in the late 19th / early 20th century, and later re-engineered as a tourist destination. And there really is a population of artists making a living every day in Montmartre, though the game has changed. A village of artists, by artists, for artists, now that’s a different animal. Unfortunately there are precious few such places left these early 21st century days. Maybe in San Telmo? San Luis Obispo?

a busy painter

The Plaza des Artistes is just a stone’s throw away from the huge white monolith of Sacre Coeur, built into the top of the hill.

Sacre Coeur Cathedral

Dazzling!

returning home from the Crusades?

We blinked as we caught sight of Paris spread out before us in the distance, huge and glittering like a medieval dragon about to take flight.

After somewhat restoring our much abused strength with some crunchy sweet pralines purchased from a street hawker, we walked up a few more flights of stairs into the cathedral. Mass had just begun, and we weren’t sure if we should take seats and pray or just follow the tide of tourists coming in one set of doors, circling and gawking (no photos please!) before exiting out another set of doors. But then we saw a regiment of nuns who began to march up the aisle singing, followed by six priests walking their timeless procession. The singing was beautiful, as singing by women who have the time to practice and rehearse should be, so we found seats, stood up, and sang along with everyone else. It was quite stirring and wonderful.

After partaking of free blessings on the house, we made our way back to the main plaza in search of the Musée Dalí. Properly known as Espace Dalí. We found the petit musée and spent a couple of hours looking at some of Dalí’s best drawings, paintings and sculptures (bronzes). We took time to read all the commentaries (in French and English, side by side, how thoughtful!) and we both enjoyed learning the background and thought processes of the artist on each piece. I didn’t know that he illustrated several books, including an edition of Alice in Wonderland and the Romance of Tristan and Isolde.

Alice in Wonderland

Dalí also did some work for Walt Disney and created the dream sequences for the Hitchcock movie Spellbound. I’m a fan of Hitchcock too, so it was interesting to learn of the Dalí connection.

Salvador Dalí 1939

I already knew something of Dalí’s friendship with Spanish filmmaker Luis Buñuel (check out Los Olvidados, his classic 1950 documentary on street kids in Mexico City), along with Man Ray, Garcia Lorca, Picasso, Modigliani and the other artists and assorted groupies who lived in Montmartre in the early 1900s.

Dalí & Man Ray, 1934

It was noted that the long twirling moustache Dalí developed (after the above snapshot) resembled that of 17th century Spanish painter Diego Velázquez. Perhaps Dalí appropriated those curls to call forth Velázquez’ ancestral artistic spirit as a kind of inspirational muse? Or maybe they were proto-rhinoceros horns? Dalí called his method of creative design a “paranoic-critical method” of “accessing the subconscious” for creative inspiration.

Velázquez self-portrait

Is that the Jungian collective unconscious or the artist’s personal subconscious? According to exhibit notes, Dalí’s iconic “melting watches” are “a rejection of the assumption that time is rigid and deterministic.”

We think Dalí was influenced by Einstein’s theory of relativity, which was published in 1916 (remember MC2?) and won Einstein the Nobel Prize in 1921. Einstein postulated that time is relative and not fixed. Their paths may have crossed. Einstein emigrated to the United States in 1933, due to the rise to power of the Nazis in Germany. Dalí had his first New York gallery opening in 1934, entitled Persistance of Memory. Let’s just say it’s possible that Einstein was aware of the Surrealist Movement, and Dalí had most certainly heard of Einstein.

father of modern physics

self-portrait with butterflies

Dalí is so much fun! He is portrayed as being wildly egocentric, but I don’t really get that from his work. Sensitive, yes… creative — wow! off the charts!! but also loving… of nature, of women, of literature, of classical painting, of humankind’s creativity and contradictions.

I see… a rhinoceros!

I was delighted and astonished by actor Adrien Brody’s portrayal of Dalí in Midnight in Paris. He really brought Dalí to life for me! Apparently he saw a kind of cosmic geometry unfolding in the horns of a rhinoceros; as others see geometric designs in crystals, snowflakes, drops of water, honeycombs… you name it. And I don’t doubt that the universe truly has been formed in a perfect, geometric, yin/yang sort of unfolding. If the fundamental nature of matter in our universe can be traced to a handful of subatomic elements, then even the molecules of your mind spring forth from the patterns instilled in us from the beginning of time. As authors of our own stories, we play a director’s role, enabling us to pursue the perfection of our selves in a search for meaning that evolves in the context of natural harmony. I admit I’ve always been a fan of surrealist art–some of it LSD induced. “I don’t do drugs… I am drugs!” proclaims a t-shirt at the Espace Dalí gift shop.

I am Dalí!

I could go on and on about Dalí, but our 20th century genius is not in need of PR. The Art here in Paris is absolutely dazzling, to say the least. There is an amazing Degas exhibit at the Musée d’Orsay right now:

a woman bathing

First Sunday of the month is free admission day at about 150 Paris museums, so that will only take us, let’s see, 12 first Sundays a year…. 2 museums in a day…. no way, that’s too tiring…. 1 museum per month… looks like we’ll have to stay here another 12 and a half years to see it all! The pressure is on!

Dalí’s St. George and the Dragon

Looks like I don’t have enough space in this post to cover the catacombs (spooky!) Paris milongas, Paris tango fashions, Paris tango etiquette, Paris DJs and Paris milonga music! Stay tuned for all that and more. And what about about springtime in Paris? She’s a fickle one, to be sure. Sunny and up into the 80s one day, absolutely gorgeous; chilly, windy and rainy the next; then hot and humid with thunderstorms! Isn’t that just like a woman?

Au revoir from Paris!